Our Smiling Friend
by marasydnyjade
Summary: Alanna doesn't go to the palace, or the convent, or the shang. Years later she finally makes her way to the palace, in the company of a very interesting man.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, would I be posting here?

Alanna grimaced at the sight of herself in the mirror. She was wearing what could be honestly be described as frills. Thom sat on her bed, peering at the letters that would send both twins on their respective destinies. Neither was thrilled about their choices, a fact that Alanna felt necessary to make vocal.

"Thom, he does not care of what we have to say, all he cares about are his books. His books and his scrolls." She pouted, appearing, for the moment, the perfect picture of lady-like innocence. Not that Thom would mention it out loud, he did, after all, value his life. Alanna continued, oblivious that she had become for a moment exactly what she rebelled against. "Everyone in the fief knows that you are no warrior, and that I am no lady."

_Au contraire_, Thom thought, but once again wisely kept his mouth shut and merely nodded. "I could," he cautiously began, "I could perhaps become accustomed to the jab and thrust. After all, Father is a knight, so it couldn't be very difficult."

Alanna whirled; an expression of disbelief graced her features. Thom winced at Alanna's reaction, her faced turned red and she looked as if she would burst.

"I could not last one day at that convent! Thom, you of all people should be supportive of me not going. I am your twin." She threw a hairbrush across the room, breaking a porcelain figure sitting on her desk. Thom got up, there was not talking to her now. As he left his sister, who was still ranting in a fit, he stopped at the door, pondering a thought.

"Then don't go." He said softly, and left.

Making his way to his own room, he sighed at the emptiness he found. Placing the last of his items in the packs, he sat down hard on his bed. He was unready to make life-altering decisions at the ripe age of 11 and a half. He wished, at that moment in time, that for once he could talk to his mother, or that his father would come and tell him it would be okay. A knock sounded at the door, and he was hopeful it would be his father or Alanna coming to patching things up with him. Instead it was Corum, his burly frame taking up the entire door. " 're ye ready lad?" Thom took one last look about and nodded, locking his door behind him. As he made his way down the steps he saw Alanna peering out of her door, he face blotchy with tears.

It would be the last time the two of them saw each other in a number of years.

Thom, as was required of him, made his way to the palace in order to become a knight of the realm of Tortall. He was hard of making friends, but gradually he grew more personable and he was approached by the other pages, who needed help with their studies, which then blossomed to friendship. His sharp wit attracted Raoul and through him Gary and the Prince. Though younger, he became a member of their group, and often spent long nights with them discussing matters of rather great import.

Autumn froze to winter, and winter thawed to spring, and before he knew it, it was summer. The years progresses quickly, with each coming right after the other, without hesitation. Thom was a passable fighter, he had no great skill, but he was smart and quick, and so he did well against most opponents.

Little was know of Thom's family, and he rarely mentioned his sister, except for the fact that she existed. Or actually, he assumed she did, as he hadn't heard a murmur from her in three years. He knew one thing; she was not in the convent in the City of the Gods. Quietly Thom would inquire to the newly arrived ladies if they recognized the name Alanna of Trebond, and all would reply in the negative.

Alanna, meanwhile, was about to be sick. Voicing her concern to her companion, she was instructed to do so out of the carriage, as to not ruin the upholstery. She shot her mentor a disparaging look, and he laughed at her face.

"Alanna, I apologize. I know how horrible a long boat trip must be on you, with your seasickness and all. But we are approaching the palace, so we will soon be out of this rattrap. I would normally ride, but there is a lady traveling with me . . ." He trailed off, allowing her to assume the rest of the sentence.

Slighted by his earlier comments, she looked out the window, until he commented about the weather and safer topics. Still in the back of her mind, she was dreading the meetings that she would have at the palace. She hadn't spoke to Thom in years, and hoped that he was still all right, and that he would forgive her for her foolhardiness. She had, in these past few years become much of what she accused her father of. She would often forget to eat or even sleep for long periods of time when laden with an interesting text. The world outside the written word and her painstaking translation from the ancient alphabets would not exist. For all intents, it was as if she had replaced books for human interaction. She would sit for hours practicing spells and stretching her magical limits. It was obvious that she would be nothing short of ecstatic to spend the rest of her days working magic and reading at the Imperial University in Carthak.

She wouldn't be able to do it; she wouldn't be able to face him. Lowering her hand to the clasp that held the door shut, she manipulated it, so that the catch would release. She chanted to herself, _tuck and roll,_ _tuck and roll, tuck and roll, tuck and roll,_ and just as she had gotten the nerve, she caught sight of the castle in all of its glory. The moment was lost, and she was sealed to her fate. The carriage stopped in the middle of the bustling courtyard. As soon as the ponies halted, her companion bounded out of the door, thrusting himself into the mayhem. A group of boys a bit older then herself broke from their paths, led my a tall dark haired boy that carried a regal air. Alanna watched from the carriage as the boy grinned, and embraced Alanna's companion, crying out "Cousin!"


	2. Chapter2

* * *

Disclaimer: I still do not own it.

Note: Thank you all for your reviews; they are met with such excitement on my part. I don't have the patience to reply to each here, but believe me when I say, I am giddy.

I am leaving today for a week in Ireland, so I am not going to be posting for at least that amount of time. Sorry!

Enjoy

Mara

* * *

_Cousin?_ Alanna thought, pondering the ramifications of the title. That would mean that the tall boy with dark hair would be the prince, it was good information to know. In Alanna's experience, princes were generally fawned over since they were in the womb, which made them exceedingly cocky and unbearable. She silently vowed to stay away from this one, for even in his familial grasp he seemed cold and prudish. The prince motioned his friends over, and quickly introduced them to the Duke.

"Cousin, you know Gary, of course," he said, gesturing to a tall stocky man, with brown hair.

The Duke's soft melodic voice carried to Alanna's ears, "Yes, yes, Young Gareth, Cousin." They grasped each other in a masculine way with somewhat less energy then the prince's embrace.

Is this whole place related to one another, Alanna thought, blatantly staring at the group by now. The tall boy named Gareth stepped aside, revealing a smaller, lither man, one that Alanna knew outright to not be directly related to the prince.

"Thom," the name died on her lips, as if she was forbidden to speak it. Anxiety rose on her suddenly, for she knew that she could not face her brother without embarrassment. Alanna stared at his face, no longer identical to hers, for he had a number of scars, where he had been cut or bruised during training, his face tan from the sun. Her features had grown more delicate and her skin was washed out, and very pale, as she spent little times outside the confines of university. She looked beyond the courtyard, searching for an exit by which she could escape, but found none. The carriage started to get stuffy and she pushed up the sleeves on her dress wanting temporary relief. Surely the Duke would remember her once introduced to her brother, and come to fetch her, but no salvation came.

Seconds ticked to minutes, stretching unimaginably long, as if each flit of a bird's wing was an eon. She needed to get out, into the open sky. Sliding to the opposite end of the carriage, she exited through the same door the Duke had, bypassing the small steps that she would inevitably fall off of, because of the heels on her slippers, without a steadying hand.

Walking quickly across the courtyard she made her way to the group of men, her traveling dress and hair flapping around her. She slid right up next to the Duke before he noticed her. "Do you think that perhaps one of you gentlemen, with you interminable good manners and exceedingly nice upbringings could have made your way to the carriage to assist me out?"

The group went silent; no one there had expected the Duke to be traveling with a young fiery-red headed girl in a dress. The girl in mention had an angry look on her face, as if everyone should have been at her beck and call. In the silence, Thom whispered her name, as if it was a prayer. She turned to him and turned her mouth up to smile, which quickly contorted to something else.

"I think I am going to be sick."

And she was.

All over the prince.

* * *

"It should be known that I blame this all on you." Alanna muttered as she took books out of the crates sitting in the study.

She had changed her clothes to a loose fitting robe over a simple day gown, so that she could have freedom of movement as she put away her books. Duke Roger was lounging in one of the chairs, looking at a scroll, that was no doubt a report about the state of the country. He barely looked up as she ranted about her afternoon, which had just gotten worse since she puked on the Crown Prince. It seemed, in perfect fashion, that half of her things were missing, namely an ancient text that she had nearly died for, just so that she could get it into her hands.

Furious that yet another thing had gone wrong that day and that Roger wasn't paying any attention to her, Alanna threw a large tome on the floor, her face red with anger. Roger looked up, finally, a questioning look on his face.

"It is customary," she began, "to look at people when they talk to you." Roger met her eyes, smirked, and then looked back down at the scroll he was reading.

Alanna had had enough. She stormed out of the room, mindless to the priceless books she had casually left strewn across the room. Roger called after her, "Don't forget to dress for the ball!"

* * *

No trip to Corus was complete without a walk down the grand staircase in the hall of the palace. Alanna wished that she could just melt into the floor. She tried to stay away from any ball when ever possible. The few she had attended, mandatory for students, were in no way preparation for what she was about to do. The events is Carthak, though garish and expensive, were massive, and she could easily blend in with the other students, or hide in a corner to read a book. Here, she was to be formally announced, and probably be asked to dance a million-odd times.

She didn't dance. Not a little, not a lot, not at all. In fact, if asked if she could describe the worst part of the Black God's realm in one word, she would not hesitate, _dancing_. It made no sense, shuffling around a floor in front of strangers, forced to make awkward conversation with a bubbling idiot, because he thought she 'pretty.' He'd ask her what her favorite colour was, and whether she preferred kittens or puppies. She wanted to talk about important things, like what the proper temperature was for gesticulating the rare goola plant, or how to choose the tense for a deponent verb in an ancient Phoegician text. They would part, and he would go back to his friends, claiming, untruthfully, that he had been able to cop a feel, and that she had promised to meet him later in the rose garden. Alanna, for her part, would have to do it all again with another man, from the long list of 'bachelors.'

It was precisely this reason that caused her to wish that she could disappear on whim. Shifting back and forth at the top of the stair, hidden by ornately covered doors, she snuck a glance at her companion. The Duke looked stunning in his golden tunic and hose, with dark blue trousers, carrying his wizarding staff, and a sword at his side. She was doubly envious of the sword hanging causally off his belt. For her part, she was dressed in a deep scarlet gown, full at the skirt, tight in the bodice. It was lower then she wanted, but things were done quickly, so she had to make due. As a bit of defiance she had thrown a cream robe, a sign that she was an apprentice at the Imperial University, on top of the gown, which hid a bit of the décolleté.

There was a nod from one of the guards at the door.

It was time.

* * *

Not as long as I hoped, but it's something. Both the goola plant and the language of Phoegician are made up on my own. Phoenician was the first language with a written alphabet; the Phoenicians had conquered some of Africa, where they had a port of Carthage, which would seem to be the base for the country of Carthak.


	3. Chapter 3

I said two weeks, it has been a month . . . apologizes.

On a related note: this is the shortest chapter I have ever posted. Ever.

The best trained and practiced ladies felt a smattering of fear as they were poised at the top of the Grand staircase in front of the entire court. Alanna, who had neither training nor practice, was nothing short of terrified. She loosely grasped the arm of the Duke, who was kind enough to escort her down the stairs, and held her breath, figuring that passing out from oxygen deprivation would be just as good as disappearing. Though she would be slightly more embarrassed. As she descended the steps, the heraldic titles ringing in her ear, her vision tunneled. On the best of her days she could tolerate a crowd. At this moment she was nervous and paranoid at the masse of people staring at her.

She looked ahead, and was blinded by the glare of the three monarchs ahead of her. The jewels on their outfits and the gold on the thrones glared like a message from the Gods, 'run away' it said. She felt the Duke's grasp on her arm tighten, as if he knew her thoughts. He leaned in closer, and barely moving his lips, murmured to her, "you should have left off the robe, you look nice in that dress."

Alanna felt her check start to burn, and opened her mouth to retort, but the couple had made it to the front of the room by that time, so she had lost her opportunity. She curtsied formally, if not a bit wobbly, in a bow of fealty to the monarchs. The King, his eyes elsewhere, politely ignored her. The Queen looked nothing if not tired. It was only with the Prince that she caught a glance from. The boy, if she could call him that, she mused, was taller then expected. He had the dark hair and blue eyes of the family Conté, matched with rather pale skin he was a sight to behold. Alanna was sure all the court flirts thought so. In comparison to the Duke, however, the Prince was nothing exciting; he looked like a mere boy. She felt the Duke guide her to one side; obviously her audience with the royal family was over. Was she better for it? Probably not.

There were any number of dunder-headed boys more then willing to take her for a spin on the dance floor. Forced by custom, she acquiesced to the requests, time after time, and honestly, her feet ached. Just as she was about to plead exhaustion, and rightly so, she was approached by the Prince himself.

Moving to the gentle rhythm of a waltz, she was stunned by the fluidness of her partner. The soothing music and comfortable steps were enough to make her open to conversation.

"Are you enjoying yourself milady?"

"Immensely, your highness," she said, smiling, "however, I was concerned about the fate of my brother this wonderful evening."

The Prince grimaced. "Unfortunately, your brother became ill this afternoon and could not make it here tonight, I am sure that he will be more then happy to see you on the morrow."

Alanna knew there was something untoward going on, but she couldn't place her finger on it. So deep in thought, she half missed the next words the Prince spoke, " . . . on my tunic." He grinned.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"I was just commenting on how lovely your vomit looked all over my tunic." His grin was larger now and his eyes were laughing.

Alanna could feel her face grow red, and she was at once grateful the song had ended.

Realizing that this was the last place she wanted to be, she fled.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Same ones apply, I own nothing besides a case of Fresca.

A/N: Almost a year to the day! College is time-consuming.

* * *

Alanna made her way into the duke's workroom the next morning. Her motive was only partially well meaning, after fleeing (which she described as retreating) the ball-room the night before, she knew that she would have to explain herself to a number of people. The duke was first on the list, because she knew that he would be the toughest to persuade. He wasn't in the workroom, and it was dark. Reciting the spell to turn on the glow globe, she looked around. He had definitely not wakened up yet, as his class materials were still in the same place he had left them the week before. She noted the late hour, and while it was odd that Duke would still be asleep, it was not unheard of. She made her way into his private chambers, where she heard scurrying noises from the bedroom. 

As she pushed open the door, she noted a few things that had yet to occur to her. The duke was standing next to the bed, sword in hand, with naught but a sheet carelessly wrapped about his waist. It was then that she noticed the emerald dress on the floor, and the brunette in his bed. Alanna nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation, which was nothing foreign to her. She scoped up the duke's pants off of the floor and tossed them to him. "You've already missed most of breakfast, and if you don't hurry you'll be late for classes, which will be noted by those who observe." She quirked her eyebrow, which Roger took as his cue, and he made his way to his dressing room. Alanna followed him, selecting a tunic and shirt from the piles of clothes he had. She took a seat, waiting until he came out of the privy.

As he preformed his morning libations she outlined his day, referring to the sheet of paper she had snatched off his worktable. "You have a meeting with the King and his council regarding," she scanned the page, "Internal infrastructure, which is inappropriately redundant, appropriations. Then you have a lunch with the Duke of Naxem at which you will be discussing the new pages for next year, and then a pre-dinner social fathering with the Royal family and the new ambassador from Tyra." The Duke walked back into the dressing room, his hair still wet and slightly missed, with nothing but a pair of leggings and breeches on, Alanna, for her part seemed not to notice the fact that there was a half naked man standing in front of her. She tossed him the shirt she had picked and continued. "Besides your classes, one of which you are about to be late for, you are free." She tossed the tunic. "I had hoped we would have a moment to discuss the spell I was working on before we left for Tortall."

The two of them left the dressing room, back through the bedroom, and into the workshop. Alanna handed him his scrolls for class and his mage's robes and looked back to the bedroom. "I'll take care of your friend." She again quirked her eyebrow, as if to say, "how dumb do you think I am?"

Roger, for his part, grabbed the items Alanna held for him, "you're a life saver." Without taking a second glance at the slightly opened bedroom door he weaved his way through the room to the door that led to the hallway.

"My spell?" she asked.

"After dinner," he called as he shut the door behind himself.

Alanna stared at the wood for a moment before turning to the bedroom to take care of the woman slumbering, oblivious to what was about to happen.

Delia of Eldorn, while oblivious to her near future, was no longer sleeping, having been awakened by the slamming of the main door. The woman laid in bed, trying to get the urge to move, and wondering when the handsome Duke would come back. She was a self-proclaimed social climber, and Delia knew that the new Duke was a more then appropriate match. _Plus, that thing that he did with that thing, absolutely amazing!_ She thought, as she shimmied a bit deeper into bed and pulled the covers a bit tighter around herself.

"I hate to bother your lie-in, but you probably should leave before you are noted missing." Alanna said, shocking the Lady out of her fantasy. Delia sat up, mindfully bringing the comforter with her.

She glared daggers at the redhead. "Can I help you?"

"No," Alanna stated flatly, "but allow me to help you. May I be candid, and say that this is not nearly the first time I have dealt with this situation." She leaned closer to the woman in the bed. "No, not nearly, in fact, it is quite the opposite, for this seems to be my routine most mornings. A bit of advice, Lady . . ." she broke off, searching for the brunette's name.

"Delia of Eldorn." She said, rather matter-of-factly.

"Delia," Alanna repeated, "that is a nice name. Anyway, a bit of advice, Lady Delia, find another man to sink your claws into, His Grace, while charming, and fantastic at Dancing, and other things, I imagine," she looked pointedly at the naked woman in the bed, "is not good at being monogamous." Alanna pretended to ponder for a second, so that she could properly set up the brunette to take her advice, "Prince Jonathon, however, seems like the perfect match, he is gorgeous, and seems very willing to make you his sun."

Delia seemed suspicious, "If he is such a wonderful person, why don't you try to snag him?"

Alanna giggled a bit, knowing that the action would suck the air-headed beauty in, "Me? I am just to pale and plain for someone as magnificent as the Crown Prince, how could a homely girl like me catch the eye of the most eligible bachelor in all of Tortall?"

Delia thought on her words, Alanna of Trebond was right. The Prince would be hers.

* * *

Little did either of the ladies know, but across the palace, things could not be a more stark opposite. The Prince, sitting in his history class, was barely listening to Sir Myles lecture. No, the Prince's thoughts were focused on a certain redheaded new arrival. 


	5. Chapter 5

It was still early, early enough for the birds to still be snuggled in their nests, anticipating the hour upon which they could search for food. However, not all of the occupants in Tortall were asleep. In the center of the palace, in the King's study were placed his most trusted advisors. "It is war, then," said Duke Gareth, "there is no choice, Tusaine has marched on the Drell Valley. One could have hoped that the meetings we had months ago would have avoided this, but Jemis and Hamial are determined I suppose."

"Unfortunately," King Roald said, "this seems to be the case." He sighed, "I have always wished to be the peacekeeper, but we are now at war. Roger, what think you?"

Roger squirmed; he had hoped that his presence at this meeting would have been forgotten, as war wasn't his specialty. Deception, now, that was his cup of tea, such as it was. He looked down at his notes, to bide his time while he thought of something insightful to say.

He was saved by the sound of a heated discussion outside involving at least two of the guards assigned to bar any unwelcome guests from the King's Study. "Who could that be?" he asked, well aware of the time, and the probability of someone else in the palace to be awake and about at this hour. No one answered his question, as a moment later it was a moot point. The figure that burst through the door had the red hair of his apprentice, and Roger could have very well kissed her at this moment. Hopefully there was an emergency that only he could solve, and that would be his escape from this meeting.

Alanna nary paused for a breath before she spoke, "We have a problem," she said, her face panicked in a way that Roger had not seen before. She slid closer to his chair, "A big, massive problem, a problem to end all problems." Her hands flew around as she spoke, making her look like a baby bird that was trying to fly for the first time. The idea amused Roger, but he knew that if he showed any sort of humor in the situation then Alanna would just get angry and he would never learn what the 'problem to end all problems' was.

The Lord Provost obviously not as amused as Roger by Alanna's hand motions, spoke up then "How did you learn of Tusaine's plans, Lady, that would be fairly impressive, as no one in this room knew about the war-plans until about an hour ago." The Provost looked through his glasses at her, instantly suspicious.

Alanna whipped around, for the first time since she burst into the room did she actually take notice of where she was and who she was in the room with. She immediately felt self conscious in nothing more than a scanty nightdress and a pair of silk slippers. Her brow furrowed, as if she was thinking far to hard about something.

Roger took that moment to speak, because as much as he liked watching Alanna's face redden to match her hair, he was more interested in getting out of the room and out of the war plans. "Alanna, you were saying a problem to end all problems . . ."

Alanna spun again to look at him, a distant, distracted look on her face, "Yes, um, there, is . . ." she trailed off, "wait, did he say there's a war?"

"War-plans, actually," the Duke explained. "However, you have a problem to end all problems."

Alanna was still distracted by the idea of war, thoughts running through her head when she answered, "The Emperor of Carthak is dead. Poison." Still thinking, she barely registered the gasps about the room, as the men were taken by surprise at the news, none of them could believe that the leader of such a mighty nation could be felled by such easy means. They started to ask her questions, none of which she answered, until finally she murmured something.

Everyone fell silent, and consulted with each other, as not one of them knew what she had said. Finally Duke Gareth said something, "Child what did you say?"

Alanna looked up from the design on the carpet that she had been staring at. "Nikoli Rayden is in Tusaine, isn't he?"

Comprehension dawned in Roger's eyes, "Damn. We need to be there."

Alanna looked him straight in the eye and countered, "I need to be there." She began to pace, "I will, of course, send our regards to the Emperor Mage-elect, and start packing." She faced Roger again, "Actually, we'll need to be light, I'll get the servants to start packing. Will you need your Hallium text, it's awfully hard to pack." As she paced, she started to talk quicker, "of course I will need the bellum gaudium, but probably not the Dragon Codex . . ." she trailed off. "Um. When's the call to muster? There are so many choices. When are we riding out?"

The Duke, still highly amused with the whole situation, smiled, "three days."

Alanna stopped short. "three days! I should have started a week ago." She made her way to the door.

"Wait."

Alanna paused and turned to face the King.

King Roald placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "I am not sure that I approve of a young lady entering a war, especially a war which I am ultimately responsible for. Even if she may be," he looked at his nephew, and said the next word difficultly, "needed."

Alanna stood in the middle of the room, astonished, as if she had never thought that the King would object. She spoke clearly and slowly, like she was explaining a complex idea to a child, "Your Majesty, I am intimately familiar with battle. I am a war mage."

"Be that as it may, Lady Alanna," the King said in a condescending manner, "I have found that school lesions are poor preparation for a practical application. Men will die, and I will do my best not to cause any women to die as well. You will stay here, I am sure that your . . ." he pondered for a moment, before he spat out, "Master, will be able to handle anything Ryanden-man will be able to conjure."

"Nikoli Rayden, Your Majesty, and with all due respect, for as grand as my," she sneered, "Master is he is not a war mage.

"And as for 'practical applications,' war mage duels are always fatal. So my school lessons have quite prepared me for anything that I should experience in the River Drell."

"Always fatal?" Duke Gareth questioned. "There is never a draw, or a practice match?"

Alanna stood straighter, put her shoulders back and clasped her hands behind her, as if answering a question in class. "With great power comes even greater responsibility. As with any magic, for every action there is a counter-action. In war magic, as the body expends the energy needed to complete the spells, it desires something to fill the void. The body develops," she paused, "kanan-na, blood lust.

"The Victor quite literally, feeds, on the life force of the Loser, in the form of blood. The Dance is not complete without it. Likiri Mantuta, often considered the master of war mages, drank the blood of his three hundred-sixty-two victims with a touch of brandy. Apparently the mixture has a more calming effect. Zela Pulva, a master in her own right, and the daughter of a prominent tribal chief in the south of what we now call Carthak, would leave the torso intact, so that she could sip directly from the losers heart. She kept them near her bed as a sign of her skill." She pursed her lips, "I am not as flashy."

Alanna paused for a moment, as if she was about to say something else, thought better of it, and made her way out the door.

The King sat back in his chair and drew a ragged look at his nephew. "Your apprentice," he said when he found his voice.

"Scares you?" Roger finished for him. "She scares me too."

* * *

A/n: it has been a long time, no? I just couldn't get a chapter together that seemed . . . appropriate. By the way, in the words of Hedgewitchery (whose story Scientist King, while outside of my personal tastes, is actually quite tasty (like pistachio ice-cream) I am playing the timeline both loose and fast. I just couldn't make myself care enough to look up the spellings of Ain's brothers. I simply doesn't bother me. . . As always, I have strayed too far from characters, and the character of Alanna's magic – but we all are already so far into my imaginary Tamora Pierce based land that we ought to push ourselves over the edge . . . rambling now. Done. Hoped you liked it. 

Mara


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